


Gifts from the Heart

by Undomiel5



Series: The Forgotten Princess [4]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, Canon Universe, Family Feels, Gen, Second Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-30 00:52:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11452587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Undomiel5/pseuds/Undomiel5
Summary: S.A. 1200. What fitting gift can you give a king: a king who rules a temporarily peaceful realm and who, with his power and influence among his own people and among his allies, could have almost anything his heart desired? For a king who has all of that and yet grew up separated from his kin, it is a gift from the heart made by the hand of one of his few remaining family members that has the greatest impact.





	Gifts from the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings or any other of Tolkien's works, idea, characters, etc. set in Middle Earth. All I own are a handful of original characters and the plots of these specific stories.

Gil-Galad’s Palace, Lindon  
Fall  
S.A. 1200

With a sigh of utter frustration, Gloredhel crumpled up a piece of paper that she had been sketching on and tossed it behind her. On it had been half sketched in the face of a handsome male elf. Hearing the noise Glorfindel left his bedroom and entered the study where his sister was working.

“Having trouble, gwathel nín?” He asked, leaning down and grabbing several of the wadded up scraps of paper that lay scattered on the floor around her chair.

Gloredhel had set her pencil aside after the demise of her last failed sketch and folding her arms on the table had rested her head upon them, but she straightened back up when she heard her brother’s words.

“Immense trouble, gwador,” she replied, running a hand through her loose golden hair.

Glorfindel returned the wadded up paper to the table and carefully smoothed them out. All showed the same face in various stages of completion. “Ah, Orodreth.” He said recognizing the elf’s face, “You are on to the last picture, then?”

“Yes,” she replied, motioning to the other end of the table.

Glorfindel went down to the other end of the long table that took up much of the twins’ study. The three drawings there were drawn on the best paper the scribe of the court could provide. Two were finished; one was mostly completed save for the details of one face. All three were examples of some of his sister’s finest work. All three were complete pictures: landscapes, full figures, and all.

The first one was labeled in his sister’s neat handwriting: Finwe and his children, Tirion, Y.T. 1400. The picture showed a beautiful garden in full bloom. Glorfindel recognized it as the garden outside Finwe’s House in Tirion. On it were drawn Finwe and each of his children in full court dress. At the bottom of the picture were small labels of the identity of each person. Glorfindel was always amazed what his sister could do with only a black pencil.

The second picture was labeled Finarfin and his children, Tirion, Y.T. 1450. On it was drawn Finarfin with all his children gathered around him. This time the background was the entrance hall of Finwe’s House. Finarfin had just drawn back from embracing Angrod, who was turned face out of the picture so his face could be seen. Finrod, Aegnor, and Galadriel were drawn in the background.

The third unfinished picture was labeled Angrod and Orodreth at the Mereth Aderthad, F.A. 21. The Pools of Ivrin were seen in the background of the picture along with a number of unidentified elves. In the foreground were drawn Angrod with his arm around son walking along the shores of the Pools as they spoke together. However, the outline of Orodreth’s face was uncompleted.

“Your work is as masterful as ever. As Maglor had a gift for music, you have a gift with that pencil.”

Gloredhel smiled in pleasure at her brother’s complement, a touch of red gracing her high cheekbones.

Glorfindel continued, “What seems to be the problem, then? Except for the details of Orodreth face, you are finished.”

“Orodreth’s face is the problem, Glorfindel.” She said, getting up and putting another log on the fire. “I was farther away than you were when we saw them, and my angle was worse. I am having great difficulties getting the details of Orodreth’s face just right.”

“All your sketches look fine to me.” Glorfindel replied, picking up and tilting one of the sketches toward the light of a nearby candle so he could examine it more closely.

“They are only fine. They are not good.” Gloredhel said slowly with great emphasis on the only fine. “If the last drawing was for me, to be bound in my sketchbook, then it would suffice. But it is a gift, a gift for Cousin Gil-Galad, and they must be as perfect as I can make them.”

“The king, I am sure, will be very pleased by your work. He would not expect you to be perfect.”

“I expect myself to be perfect.” Gloredhel said, returning to her seat with a sigh. “What time is it?” She asked abruptly.

“Two hours until midnight.” Glorfindel replied, slightly surprised at the leap in the conversation.

“I have seven more hours then.” She said quietly to herself. After a moment she continued speaking, picking up her previous train of thought, “The king was so young when his grandfather died, only twenty. And only sixty when his father died. Many others of the family Gil-Galad would never have met.” Her voice got quieter as she kept speaking. “I remember Adar and Naneth quiet well, but we were much older when they perished during the crossing of the Helcaraxe. I remember the family when there was peace, before all this suffering and death, before Formenos, before it all. Gil-Galad does not have that. He lost so much when he was young. All his life there has been battle and death. So much responsibility was placed on him when Turgon died. I wanted to share what I remembered, so that he might see the family in days of peace and so that he might see the ones he has never met. That is why it must be perfect.”

Glorfindel could see the tears glistening in his twin’s eyes as she finished speaking. With a small smile at the tender heart his sister usually hid under layers of courtly behavior, he came back around the table, patted his sister’s shoulder, and then took a seat one chair over but out of her way. “One more try, sister, and then I think you will be able to finish.”

He closed his eyes and drew to mind the scene she was trying to draw in all the detail he could remember. Once he had done this, he pushed the picture through the bond to his sister and focused only on that picture so that it would remain in her mind as she worked. Glorfindel had been closer to Angrod and his son when that moment had occurred and had had a better angle to see their faces. Gloredhel smiled softly when her twin showed her the memory. “Yes,” she said slowly, “I think that will work.”

She took her pencil back up again and began to sketch upon one last piece of scratch paper. Slowly she worked and carefully until the face of Orodreth as he had been before he took up the kingship of Nargothrond was revealed. It was still some time before she put down her pencil and gazed at her practice sketch. Finally, she was pleased with her work.

“All I need to do his copy this sketch, and then I will be finished.” She said. “Thank you for your help, gwador nín.”

“I am pleased to be able to help,” Glorfindel said, rising from his seat. “I think I will retire to rest now, unless you need more help.”

“Go and rest!” Gloredhel replied, rising also and going to retrieve her mostly completed sketch. “I must finish this and take the picture down to Gil-Galad’s study, and then I, too, will rest.”

Glorfindel returned to his bedroom, as Gloredhel retook her seat. With painstaking precision she drew in the lines of the face of her fallen cousin until all was completed to her satisfaction. It was nearly midnight when she finished her work. Finally she rose from her chair. She went around the table, cupping her hand around the flame of each candle and carefully blowing them out. The light from the fireplace would be enough to guide her steps when she returned.

After gathering up her drawings so that her sketches would not get smudged, she slipped out of the suite of rooms that she shared with her brother. On silent feet she glided through the many, long halls of the palace of the High King of the Noldor. Finally she came to the rooms that Gil-Galad occupied. Gloredhel paused for a moment outside the door to his private study. All was quiet. Turning the nob, she opened the door silently and slipped in. The door from his study into his bedchamber was closed, and all was still quiet. Careful not to look at any private papers left out, Gloredhel left the drawings, Gil-Galad’s begetting day present, on his desk for him to find when he rose. With this done she slipped out as silently as she had come and returned to her own chambers to rest.

All her troubles were more than recompensed when the king arrived at breakfast that morning. After exchanging the necessary pleasantries, he approached her and greeted her with a tight hug. In a voice tight and husky with deep emotion, he spoke in a low voice so only she could hear, “Thank you, Gloredhel. Your gift means more to me than you can ever know.”


End file.
